Monday, February 26, 2007

Spears' Threesome and My Weekend

This was back when she was hot:

Alexander [former husband of 42 hours and 27 minutes], who claims he once had a drug-fueled threesome with Spears and a female dancer, said that in their short relationship he had trouble keeping up with her drug use.
What was that, three years ago? I’d bet that today 9 out of 10 guys would rather fuck the female dancer than Brittney Spears, with the 1 out of 10 picking Spears just so he could say he fucked Brittney Spears (and rubbed her bald head while she gave him head). You know that female dancer is still hot as hell if dancing is still her profession. You don’t see too many fatties on MTV music videos. While the Brittster, well, isn’t all that hot now a days. On a side note, is “keeping up with her drug use” kind of like my friends trying to keep up with my beer drinking on any given night (doesn’t happen)? And how big of a hissy fit would she throw if I “paid more attention” (stuck it in the ass more times) to the dancer than her during the threesome? This coming from the guy who, after the ten minute prep work for masturbation including the lighting of candles and incense, stops mid stroke when he smells pizza. Or who continues to have sex with a woman when there are uninvited guests in his house but abruptly stops when he hears one of his beer cans being opened (sad but true story).

(You can skip the next paragraph if you’re short on time, it’s pretty boring.)

This weekend was pretty uneventful as far as good stories go. Friday I had off from work. The Renter brought home steaks and we pigged out. Friday night at the bar was pretty quiet (as far as I remember). I woke up kind of early on Saturday for some odd reason. I went over to the parent’s house, watched The Prestige (really good movie but you have to pay attention), and returned home to shovel snow. The neighbor kid from across the street offered to shovel like he always does when it snows. Since the snow was light and fluffy I told him I’d do it myself, no big deal. Saturday night at the bar was pretty dead. There was a blizzard warning for most of south eastern Wisconsin so most of the regular patrons stayed home. I left before karaoke started and chowed down on some George Webb’s burgers.

Sunday it snowed. It snowed an eight inch layer of concrete. I stayed in bed till noon reading, putting off the inevitable shoveling as long as possible. I got all bundled up and stepped outside around 1:00. Fifteen minutes later I was gasping for air having cleared off 100 square feet. 100 square feet is a ten by ten square (incase you couldn’t do the math). It took me three and a half hours to shovel roughly 1,400 sq ft of snow. It sucked ass. Every ten or fifteen minutes I would have to stop to get my heart rate back down from the elevated level of a hamster running in his wheel to the not so elevated level of me taking a crap (although those can also be strenuous at times). During these breaks I would silently fume with rage at the people in my neighborhood. It seems that not some but ALL of my neighbors have snow blowers. Being not quite 30, I didn’t believe that I needed a snow blower. I’m still fairly young and in decent (not too fat) shape. Sunday, I needed a snow blower. I sat at my desk today in pain. My lower back is as tender as my testicles after six hours of sex (with myself). One friend drove by and suggested we both go shopping for blowers when they go on sale soon. And you know what? I didn’t even think twice about laying down the cash. I was so absolutely miserable that I was ready to make a $400 purchase without going through the whole “do I really need this” thought process I go through with every big purchase I make. Well, except for those “professional services” I received down in Cancun, but we won’t get in to that now.

And the neighbor kid was nowhere to be found. I swear he was avoiding my stares across the street.

Please don’t judge me (too much) after reading the next story.

On Saturday one of the Renter’s friends was up at the bar. I believe I have written about her before and how the Renter set up a “boobie feel” which left me quite excited and slightly embarrassed (only afterwards). Just recently I have stopped having dreams about them. At one point in the night I leaned back and delivered what I thought was the greatest pickup line ever: “Would you like to be my date for the night? We can hang out, I can buy you some drinks, and at the end of the night we can have a little sex. What do you think?” It was a sure fire winner, the grand slam of pickup lines. For some reason unknown to mankind, it did not work. I had the engineers at NASA work on this and they have assured me it should have panned out. They said I screwed up on the approach angle or the landing or something but I think they’re fucked in the head as I didn’t land anything that night.

Sensing the looming defeat, I did what every sexually challenged/perverted/desperate/slightly demented/almost 30 year old man would do: I pulled up the picture of my penis on my cell phone.








I later found out it is not normal to have a picture of your penis on your cell phone.

But I had good intensions when I took the picture. One night months ago I was hitting on a relatively unattractive woman (you know, like normal). Before she would go home with me she said she wanted to see my penis. Being in a public place with people all around, I had to decline. Or it could have been the fact that I was pretty loaded and more than likely couldn’t get it up anyway, one of the two. The next morning when I woke up alone the idea hit me to take a picture in case the situation was to happen again.

I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to use the picture. What single woman wouldn’t drool and salivate over my 7.7384 inch penis (the “4” was rounded down)? Finally, after months of keeping this picture stored in my phone, it was finally going to pay off! But, just like the greatest pickup line ever, she only laughed and spit out a little of her drink (can be construed as salivating?).

I have since replaced it with a picture of a rose (every woman likes flowers, right? I’m experimenting with my diet to try to get my farts to smell like roses, you know, little 3-D effect to “wow” them over. The Renter isn’t too thrilled to be the sniff tester.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I am a bit disappointed that you did not post the picture of your penis on your post. When I saw the empty space I figured that I was going to be treated to a delightful image of your perfect penis. I was a bit sad by the cock tease. Shame on you for toying with my emotions like that!

Maybe in the next post you will surprise us all with a picture? You do talk enough about your penis that your faithful readers should be able to see what preoccupies your thoughts for 20 hours of the day (the other 4 hours are of course dedicated to big, firm, lushes breasts).